the angel from your nightmare
by belleways
Summary: Snow White makes it into the wardrobe before Emma is born, only to get to the new world and find that Pinocchio is already there. Now the single mother of two children in a strange and harsh world, can Snow put her faith in magic and help Emma become the person she needs to be, before Regina sabotages her? AU, eventual Swan Queen.
1. Chapter 1

It took twenty years to find true love, nine months to carry its gift, and just seconds to lose it all. Gone.

Snow White is lying on her back, afraid to open her eyes. This is the place where all her happiness will be destroyed, she reminds herself, the Queen's menacing words echoing painfully in her memory. She doesn't want to know what it looks like. She's afraid of what she'll see. Snow's been through a lot of terrifying and miserable things but this is by far the worst and she's not ready to process it yet. She keeps her eyes closed, she steadies her breath, and for a moment she's almost desperate enough to believe that this is all just a harrowing nightmare, and in the morning she'll awake in her true love's arms. But she knows better than that.

"Queen Snow White?" comes a small voice above her, and she opens her eyes.

Is it really a nightmare? For she's in a forest- a forest just like the ones in the world from which she just came- not a desolate or cursed wasteland, like she expected. What queer kind of punishment is this?

And the voice above her- it belongs to Gepetto's small boy, Pinocchio. Her first reaction is exuberant shock and elation- she doesn't have to venture into this world alone. But her second reaction is curiosity and wariness, for how did the boy get here? Is he a mere mirage of her feeble mind? After some effort and help from the boy, Snow rises to a sitting position with the intent of asking Pinocchio how he managed to get here.

"Pinocchio?" she says, a little deliriously. "You're here? But how?"

The little boy appears somewhat unsettled by this question and shifts unsurely on his tiny feet, his hands fervently occupied knotting themselves together. "My father told me not to tell," he confesses sadly, biting his lip. "But you're the Queen, and- the Blue Fairy told me I have to be a good boy, honest and true- so it would be okay if I told you, wouldn't it?"

She reaches forward and takes his nervous hands in her own with a gentle smile. "You can tell me, Pinocchio. It's alright."

He gulps and nods, his bright eyes shining with relief. "The magic wardrobe could hold two of us. But my father would only give it to the Blue Fairy if I got to be the first one in it, so she had to tell you and King James that it could only fit one."

Snow inhales stiffly, agony and heartbreak searing hotly through her chest. But she doesn't want to frighten the helpless child so she pats his hands with thickly muted turmoil, even going so far as to muster another soft smile despite the tears that betray her composure. James could have been with her now, if they had only known.

"I'm sorry, Queen Snow White," Pinocchio mumbles, sensing her hurt and hurting for her, too. "I really am sorry." He breaks out into guilty sniffles and she coos at him, shaking her head.

"No, no, Pinocchio- it's going to be alright. We'll be alright." She pulls his head into her chest and runs her fingers through his auburn hair, restraining her own urge to sob. She must be the braver of the two. She must take care of him, for clearly it is what Gepetto wants. And she can't blame him. "Shh, shh," she whispers, holding the trembling boy close. "We'll be alright," she repeats, more for herself than for him.

"I'll be a good boy," he whimpers, "I promise."

"Oh, Pinocchio, I know you will be," Snow assures him. "You already are a good boy."

For a while the two remain motionless, holding each other fearfully as if clinging to the last remnant of their former lives. But Snow White knows they cannot remain in these woods forever, so at length they rise and, hand in hand, make for the nearest sign of civilization. Snow doesn't know what they'll find outside these woods- or if there is an outside to these woods- but it's her duty to carry her daughter to safety and set everything aright so she has to try. This battle is between her and Regina and every single casualty, however big or small, Snow sees as her own fault. So she owes it to the whole kingdom to restore the happy endings and end the fight against evil once and for all. Or at least ensure the safety of the one person who can.

Suddenly a great whirring sound is heard in the near distance and both travelers are seized with fear. They move forward slowly, inch by inch, sharing glances of trepidation and caution as they clench each other's hands, until Pinocchio lurches to an unprecedented stop when the sound gets nearer. He looks at Snow with big eyes and lets go of her hand.

"Queen Snow White, you can't get hurt," he stammers, lifting a finger to point at her swelling belly. "You're carrying the savior!" After a pause he swallows and says, seriously, "I'll go ahead and see what the noise is. I'll tell you if it's safe."

"Pinocchio, we'll go together. Please, I can't let you put yourself in danger for my sake."

"It isn't for your sake," he corrects with a shake of his head, pointing again at her belly. "It's for hers."

Snow White sighs and wraps a protective arm around her stomach. "We're in this together, Pinocchio. But… if it would make you feel better, I'll walk behind you." She can see the conviction in the boy's eyes and knows bargaining at this point will get her farther than arguing.

He considers this and then nods, sweeping around and continuing his gingerly pace toward the sound. She gives him a few paces head start and then trails after him, heartbeat racing as the edge of the wood looms into view. It turns out they were far closer than they thought.

The powerful rushing sound seems to be coming from a wide stone path, upon which fiercely rapid wheeled contraptions ride. They are going so fast that neither Snow nor Pinocchio can rightly identify their make, so they merely stand at the side of this path, aghast. Pinocchio seeks Snow's hand once more, and she holds it tightly as they both stare ahead.

"Let's go," she says, quietly, and the two begin to cross the path.

Across the way Snow sees a large structure, around which are scattered some people wearing strange garments. These people stop what they're doing and gaze curiously at Snow and Pinocchio, so much so that when the two make it across Snow is not sure she sees any of them breathing.

"You guys come from a ren-faire or something?" one of them says, quirking a brow.

Snow and Pinocchio exchange quizzical looks. "We come from far away," Snow supplies, humbly. After an uncomfortable silence she adds, "Do you know of any place we can stay? We are both very tired and hungry. Only… we have no money."

"No money… o-kay. Yeah, there's a homeless shelter not too far from here. Need a lift?"

"A what?"

The man eyes her suspiciously. "Not from around here. Right," he mutters to himself with a shake of his head. "Come on, follow me."

He leads them behind the building to one of those large wheel-machines that Snow and Pinocchio saw earlier. His has a dip in the back, though, where some of the others they'd seen didn't. Perhaps it is broken. "Is it safe?" she asks, keeping a distance.

"The truck? Yeah, 'course! Go on, get in the back," he says, lifting Pinocchio into the back of this "truck" and aiding Snow to get up into it as well. "I'll drive real slow," he promises, looking at Snow White's belly. "Wouldn't want to be upsetting the little nugget in there! Say, what're your names?"

Snow's mind quivers as she struggles to come up with an answer to that question. They couldn't very well use their real names in this world. "I'm Mary-Margaret," she says, in honor of her mother. "And this is…" her eyes dart around and she sees the trees wilting under the promise of winter. "…August."

The man tips his hat. "Nice to meet you, Mary-Margaret and August. I'm Jim. Alright, hang tight!"

"It's very nice to meet your acquaintance, J- ah!" Snow tries to be polite but within seconds she's tumbling on top of Pinocchio, not fully expecting the "truck" to move so quickly so soon. She feels slightly nauseated at first, and she can tell Pinocchio does too, but in time their eyes and stomachs adjust and they're able to peer out at this new world passing before their eyes.

It is so teasingly familiar and yet- and yet so terrifyingly alien.

Everything they know, everyone they love, every comfort of their world, is gone.

Gone.

It took twenty years to find true love, nine months to carry its gift, and just seconds to lose it all.

* * *

"Ah, Miss Blanchard, I'm glad you could come."

"I wish I could say the same," she replies coolly, taking a seat opposite him.

Sixteen years later and Mary Margaret Blanchard looks very much the same as she did all those years ago when she emerged, pregnant and delirious, out of the local wood. She is slimmer now, fatigue and overwork turning down the ends of her lips and darkening the soft skin beneath her eyes, but she is still a queen- for whatever that is worth anymore. As she sits in the principal's office for the fourth time this year, Mary Margaret is beautiful in her stately composure. Instead of looking at the principal she looks through him, and- to her credit- when her daughter is brought in to sit beside her, Mary Margaret does not so much as flinch.

"Now," the principal begins, taking a deep sigh as Emma is escorted in and seated beside her mother, "Miss Emma, why don't you explain to your mother why she had to take time off work, again, to come here and collect you?"

Emma rolls her eyes and shuffles in her seat, arms crossed sourly across her chest. "I didn't start it," she mumbles, barely above a whisper. "He asked for it, okay?"

Mary Margaret glances dolefully at her daughter's profile and is distressed- but not surprised- to see blood oozing from a cut on the side of her cheek. It's a good thing she just invested in a new first aid kit. She reaches a hand forward and lays it on her daughter's shoulder, but Emma brushes it off with a poorly concealed grimace. "Emma, please, tell me what happened," Mary pleads quietly as she returns her hand to her lap and her gaze to her feet. "Is this going to be another detention, a week of detention, a suspension, or what?"

"This is going to be an expulsion, I'm afraid," the principal corrects darkly, fumbling for some papers on his desk. He produces a document and a pen, handing them to Mary Margaret. "Please sign these forms and we will release her records to whichever school she goes to next. Thank you for your constant cooperation, Miss Blanchard. I'm sorry it has come to this."

Mary Margaret is numb, and Emma, though rarely frightened, ventures a nervous look at her mother's face.

"I am the sorry one," Mary states listlessly, reaching for the papers. The office is silent but for the scratching of Mary's pen, no one quite knowing what to say.

After it is finished Mary Margaret rises, clutching her tiny purse- still a queen, though a frail and disconsolate queen whose inner sanctity has been tested. She shakes the principal's hand and sweeps out of the office without waiting for Emma to follow behind her.

Emma hesitates in the office, just long enough for the principal to add insult to injury. "Oh, and Emma- happy birthday," he says, solemnly. "Spend your wish wisely."

She narrows her eyes and wants nothing more than to wipe that smug little look off his face, but she knows better. Fists form at her sides and she clenches them as she stalks out of the room, hurrying after her mother. Damage control time.

"Mom, I'm sorry," Emma shouts breathlessly, trying to catch up to Mary Margaret, who doesn't respond. "Mom, I know it's bad, I know, but- but it'll be okay! I can get a job too, maybe where August works, and I'll be fine! I don't need to go to school anyway, it doesn't teach me anything."

They reach the parking lot and Mary is silent still as she climbs into the car and slams her door shut. Once inside she heaves out a great sigh, fingers coiling around the wheel while memories of a time long past cloud her heart- memories she can't deal with right now. Like she can deal with anything right now.

She locks the doors before Emma can get in, leaving the young blonde angrily tapping on the window. Mary rolls it down and says, coldly, "You will walk home. I have to go back to work. I don't have time to drop you off. See you at five."

Emma's left standing in the parking lot completely aghast and infuriated- how could her mother- her mother- do this to her? The girl's blood boils and she kicks the rock nearest her shoe before stomping over to the sidewalk, fists still taut at her sides. She can't believe this. Mom didn't even ask her what happened! And that stupid principal- that stupid fucking principal, he had it out for her- he didn't listen to her either! So she has a bad track record, so what? People pick fights with her and she wins them. She can't help it. She also can't help that some kid found out the Blanchards live on food stamps and decided to broadcast it to the entire fucking cafeteria. What was she supposed to do, just stand by while everyone else laughed?

If mom had only known the whole story, Emma assures herself, she wouldn't be so mad.

A breeze rushes past her face and the cut on her cheek smarts hotly; Emma touches it with a wince and is reminded of its rawness. She's got to get home and clean up, at least for mom's sake.

The small family of three has inhabited many odd places around this area, primarily in and around Boston, but now they rent the top level of a duplex on the outskirts of town. Luckily the house is only ten minutes on feet from the school, and it isn't dark yet, so Emma doesn't have to pull out her switchblade. She shoves her hands deep in the jean pockets of her overalls- hm, are these August's? she wonders fleetingly as her fingers make contact with what she thinks is a gum wrapper- and shrugs into a light walk. August's been trying to quit smoking for months now because of mom, but what mom doesn't know is that he shares his pack with Emma during his once-a-week relapses. She's hoping he relapses tonight because she really needs a smoke.

When Emma finally reaches the duplex she digs the keys out of her pocket and throws back the door, only to wrinkle her nose at the sickeningly sweet smell of cake. Birthday cake.

Oh, shit.

When she slams the door behind her and rushes up the stairs, her fears are confirmed by the sight of August icing a vanilla-cinnamon cake. When he sees her he drops the tube and lets out a shocked cry, side-stepping in front of the cake with a bewildered and annoyed look on his face.

"Emma, what are you doing home? It's only one o'clock!" But the question hangs weightily in the air, answered by the blood coagulating around her cut.

"Oh." The disappointment settles in rapidly and he exhales with strangled aggravation, shaking his head. "Damn it, Emma," he laments, slamming his hand on the counter. "What's the punishment this time? A day, a week, a month?"

"Actually, I- I was expelled this time."

Silence screams between them.

Then he lets out a choked laugh. "Great," he says, "that's just great, Emma. Happy birthday to you, huh? What do you wanna do for your party, visit your friends in juvie?"

"Stop it," she seethes, eyes darkening. "You don't understand-"

"You're right. I don't understand!" he shouts, silencing her. "You have no idea the sacrifices mom has made for you to have this life, to go to that school, to wear those clothes, to eat this food, to have this- this fucking cake!" August grabs the cake with both hands and stuffs it vehemently into the trash, much to Emma's horror. She's never seen him this angry. She recoils, taking a few steps back.

"August, I- I'm sorry," she stammers, wildly blinking back tears. She won't give him the satisfaction of beating her down. If only she could tell him what happened, make him understand. "It's just-"

"No!" he cuts her off, tersely. "There is always an excuse with you, Emma. I don't want to hear it."

"Look, I'm sorry I'm not perfect like you and mom expect me to be!" she explodes, suddenly. "I'm sorry I'm not some magical fairy princess, I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment, I'm sorry for being who I am and not who you both think I should be! But life isn't a fucking fairytale and I'm no fucking princess- we're poor-as-shit bottom feeders, August, and the sooner we all wake up and accept that the sooner we can stop believing in magic and actually try and do something with our lives!" She pauses to swallow, breathing heavily. "I don't want to be like mom. I don't want to live in some crazy fantasy world. I won't. Do you hear me? I won't."

August studies her intently. "You're lucky if you grow up to be half the woman she is," he says finally, expressionless.

There's a pause as he brushes past her and she bites her lip, struggling to hold back tears.

"Can I have a light?" she whispers with a tremble.

"I'm quitting."

Before she can say more he storms into his room and flings the door shut. She hears the click of the lock and her heart sinks.

Emma stands purposeless in the middle of the room, eyes lingering gloomily on the decorations strung up by her mom and brother. They always take so much time on her birthday, never letting it be forgotten or uncelebrated. It's always such a big deal. She's always such a big deal. Guilt blooms in the pit of her stomach and she is powerless to ignore it; she knows what August said is true and it kills her. Mom does so much for the both of them. They'd be lost without her. Mom always believes in her- mom always, always, always tells her she is more than who she thinks she is.

But right now Emma thinks she's a good-for-nothing teenager and she's pretty sure mom would agree with her. Mom has to take time off work to come get her all the time, mom has to suffer the humiliation of walking into that principal's office time and time again, mom has to go to sleep at night knowing her daughter is not living the life she's meant to… and Emma realizes something.

She's a burden, isn't she?

She's a burden.

Within minutes she's out the door and down the street, for she knows what she has to do.

* * *

Emma's running, running, running- running as fast as her legs can take her (which is pretty fast, by the way; she was ranked high on her track team before she got kicked off), even though she doesn't know where she's running. But she's running all the same, ignoring the beeps and horns of startled cars that pass her along the highway. She isn't stopping.

She's miles away from home now and the more distance she puts between her and that duplex the better. Mom and August may be disappointed at first but they'll understand, one day, why she had to do it.

Emma glances at her wristwatch. Mom will be home in an hour. Okay- that gives her enough time to get at least another two or three miles in if she picks up the pace. She knows they'll come out looking for her but Emma's good at hiding and she doesn't intend to be found. Not to mention… she looks up at the darkening sky with a smile. A search conducted in the rain isn't ever going to yield results.

The sky crackles menacingly and Emma feels emboldened by it, feet flying forward almost out of her control. As the first drops of water pelt her she decides she's got to get off the road, though, because it's dangerous to be on the side of a highway in the rain. The next exit looms into view and she strains to read it. Is that- what? No, it can't be- what kind of ridiculous- Storybrooke? Seriously? Whatever. She's clearly misreading it. She's got to get off here anyway; the next exit is four miles up and she doesn't have time to risk it.

Emma squints as the rain lashes her face and body, hoping to death that this "Storybrooke" isn't too far off from the exit. She follows a side road that winds through the woods because- apparently according to the sign- this way's faster. She doesn't have the energy to question the logic of street signs. She just needs to get inside shelter.

And she needs to pee. Badly.

After what feels like roughly ten minutes Emma comes up to the "Welcome to Storybrooke" sign and is slightly nonplussed to learn that that actually is the town's name- Storybrooke. Her first thought: weird. Her second thought: I hope they still have toilets here.

She slicks her wet hair back out of her face and darts her eyes back and forth, desperate to find a sign of life anywhere. God, but if this isn't the Town that Time Forgot. How fucking quaint. She fights the urge to spew and ambles over to one side of the street a little unsurely, too blinded by rain to be able to adequately distinguish which building is for what purpose and which one has the better likelihood of containing a public restroom.

Oh- that one there! It's huge! Must be some kind of town hall or something, Emma decides. It'll have bathrooms if anything here does.

She rushes up the stone path to the big white building and pounds fiercely on the door, fighting to be heard over the storm. To her surprise, a beautiful dark-haired woman answers it and asks, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you guys have a bathroom here?" she shouts over the rain, bleary-eyed.

"Excuse me, but who are you?"

"Look lady, I just have to pee and then I'll get out of here, okay? Cross my heart and hope to die."

The woman looks put-off but eventually she opens the door and lets Emma enter, eyes curiously fixated on the drenched visitor.

"Let me take your coat," she offers, arms outstretched.

Confused, Emma looks at her with a quirked brow. "What do you want with my coat?"

"…Fine, keep it. The bathroom is just around that corner at the end of the hall."

Emma trudges off in the direction the lady said- and it's only after she relieves herself, washes up, and trudges back- that she realizes this isn't a town hall, this is a home. How anybody can live like this she doesn't understand, but what she does understand is that she's been awfully rude and she feels bad about it. When she approaches the woman Emma smiles awkwardly.

"Sorry, ma'am. I thought this was a town hall or something. I wouldn't have come barging in if I'd known it was your house."

"It's quite alright," the woman replies with icy cordiality. "But it's raining rather fiercely out there," she observes, glancing out the window. "You're going to catch cold."

"I'll be fine," Emma assures the woman. "It'll stop soon."

A pause. Then, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"Thirteen."

"Sixteen today, thank you."

With hawk like eyes the woman sweeps over her soaked figure. "What's a birthday girl doing wandering around on her birthday when she should be celebrating? Unless she isn't celebrating," she speculates, pursing her lips, "she's running. But from what?"

Emma's lips slide into a scowl. "Okay, creepy rich lady, you've made your point. I'm leaving."

"What's your name? You look very familiar."

"Thanks for the help, your bathroom's really nice, I'm going to go now, have a nice life freaking out other helpless teenagers."

"Did I ask an unfair question?" she asks, calmly pouring what looks like brandy into two crystal glasses.

Emma sighs. "I can't decide if I should tell you my real name or not. I'm kind of on the run, if you haven't noticed."

"Whatever suits you."

She debates for a moment. "I'm Emma Blanchard."

"Blanchard?" the woman echoes, a strange smirk curling onto her face. "What a unique name."

"Yeah, well, it's mine. Your turn."

"Regina Mills. Nice to meet you, Emma Blanchard. Do you often walk around bleeding in the middle of rainstorms? Or is that just a birthday tradition?" She steps forward and offers Emma a glass.

"It's a long story," Emma sighs, sipping disappointedly from what she learns is definitely apple cider and definitely not brandy.

"From a very troubled place, I see," Regina supplies, probing her.

"Well, it's been a pretty shitty day, lady. Sorry- Regina."

They're silent as Regina's eyes bore into an oblivious Emma- she is fascinating in the extreme to her beneficent host, for Regina sees something in this "Emma" that sates a very dark and very buried hunger within her. Yes, there is something about this girl, Regina muses. Definitely something worth keeping an eye on. Or perhaps a hold on- at least until this girl's mother shows up looking for her.

"Tell you what, Emma," Regina starts, setting down her glass, "You're right. I do have a nice bathroom. I also have a nice tub, fresh clothes, several guest rooms with warm beds, and plenty of food. Why don't you stay here tonight? I won't notify the police." She dons her most innocent and benevolent face and Emma is too exhausted to question it.

"It is getting dark," she notes, nervously. Emma can't go trekking around at night, for one, and for another, she isn't going to find any better shelter than this place. "You got band aids too?"

Victorious, Regina grins demurely. "Follow me."

* * *

He's lingering in his room again because he can't stand the sight of her so distraught.

Over the years August developed both an unswerving loyalty and familial tenderness for the queen- he doesn't pretend to believe that he's really her son, but there are times when he feels it regardless. Times like these. And yet at his core, August realizes he is entirely useless to her. He isn't a prince, he isn't a nobleman; heck, he wasn't even real at one point in his life. How is he supposed to do anything to cheer her? Especially when he feels much of the blame on his shoulders for Emma's disappearance? If he hadn't shouted at her she may have stayed. If he'd been more understanding, if he'd controlled himself… August sighs, molding his hands to his face.

He doesn't know what to do.

And Mary Margaret doesn't, either.

She unwittingly mirrors her pseudo-son, sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands and tears streaming down her cheeks. Emma is gone and she'd been out all night searching in vain, turning down endless roads while screaming her daughter's name until her throat ran hot with blood.

She knows she's supposed to be strong- she's supposed to be right back out there scraping over every inch of town, not once stopping until she has her daughter clasped safely in her arms. But Mary Margaret is weary and worsted and she can't seem to summon the strength to stand, let alone get back into her car and drive around for hours without aim. She's taken the day off work in spite of the fact that she can't afford to- and all she's doing is wasting it here, sitting in her kitchen weeping like a fool.

Mary weaves her fingers around her silver band- the last existing relic of her former glory- and strokes it sullenly, staring at the glimmering green stone as if to inspire herself to action. Memories of James flicker behind her eyelids. This time, instead of running from them, she weakens, allowing them to roll over her, to drown her entire body in the warm ache of nostalgia. His courageous eyes burrow into the softest reaches of her heart and suddenly Mary Margaret rises from the table, wipes her face, and approaches August's room.

"Let's go, August. We must continue our search." Her words fall faintly on his door but he hears them as if they were whispered in his ear.

He opens the door and meets her reddened eyes with swallowed sadness. "Let me drive, my queen," August offers with a fleeting smile, which she is careful to return.

The walk to the car is one made in deafening silence. Neither August nor Mary Margaret has the ability to comfort the other, thus long ago they made a mutual agreement to avoid trying. When they reach the vehicle Mary pulls the keys from her purse and relinquishes them to August, and only then do they speak- when August asks if they are low on gasoline, and she confirms that they are.

The engine rumbles to a staggering start and the two zoom down the street, headed for the nearest gas station. Mary Margaret gazes dejectedly out her window, eyes too heavy to lift from the ground. She needs to reason in her mind, logically, where Emma could be- but everything is in a haze and she can't dispel it no matter what she tries. Panic has wedged itself tightly in her heart and she can guise it but not eliminate it.

She's on the verge of speaking, of summoning some pathetic attempt at conversation, when her phone rings- and her heart leaps into her throat. She flips it open and presses it breathlessly to her ear.

"Hello, Snow White. I believe I have something that belongs to you."

* * *

Emma awakens to the sound of Regina's voice down the hall, and it takes her a moment to groggily sort out exactly why she's hearing it and remember where she is. When she does she rubs her eyes and sits up, shifting awkwardly in the cotton nightgown the benevolent woman loaned her for the night. She feels exceedingly well rested, despite the amount of stress she'd been through the day before, and blinks as her eyes adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains over the window. She throws her hair up into a ponytail and slides out from under the covers, heading for the door.

"Why, good morning sleeping beauty," Regina greets her with casual snarkiness. "I see you rested well."

"Yeah," Emma confirms with a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Two o'clock in the afternoon," she says with a smirk. "You must have been very tired. Would you like a late breakfast?"

"That would be great if you don't mind," the girl answers earnestly, though not without feeling a bit guilty at taking up so much of this woman's time. "But you probably have better things to do today than shuttle me around. Do you… have a job?" she asks unsurely- Regina could be an heiress or something.

She's smug. "Yes," the brunette answers. "I'm the mayor."

Emma gapes at her, eyes wide and brows raised at this sudden revelation. "Why didn't you tell me that before I made an ass of myself and stormed into your house?" Heat flares on her cheeks and she looks down, muttering self-deprecating curses under her breath.

Regina simply looks at her and remarks, "There's a diner just down the street. I can try to talk them into serving you breakfast, if you wish."

Emma's stomach gurgles loudly and so she's quick to say, "That sounds nice."

"I've had your clothes washed and pressed. They should be folded on top of the dresser in your guest bedroom. I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes."

The blond nods and watches as Regina glides away, amazed and perplexed at her generosity. All her life Emma's never met a stranger as kind- albeit strange- as this Mayor Mills. Her heart warms a little and she turns about, sauntering back to her room. Sure enough, her clothes are on the dresser to the left of the bed, and she shimmies into them rapidly. Overalls, long-sleeved white t-shirt, socks and chucks.

Emma pauses when she's finished, staring at her reflection in the mirror. After the shower she took last night, she was left feeling refreshed and renewed- the smeared mascara cleared from her face and the rainwater cleansed from her body. She'd slept heavily, after reading a little from her book of fairytales; it was the only thing she'd brought with her, aside from a few changes of clothes and a handful of dollar bills. The book is sentimental, she supposes, as she's had it since she can remember. A gift from her mother. And, well, she couldn't bear to leave it. Emma furrows her brows and shoves her hands in her pockets- a silent admonition of guilt. She wonders what her mother and brother are doing now, if they're looking for her, if they're scared. But it's too much to think about so she shakes her head and hurries down the stairs.

"Ready?" Regina asks, purse over her shoulder.

"Yeah. I mean, yes, ma'am."

Regina's lips twitch uncomfortably at the honorific, but she doesn't know what else the girl should call her so she leaves it alone.

The two walk wordlessly with Regina leading the way and Emma trailing just behind her, too uncomfortable to strike up conversation. She doesn't know this woman at all, and to be honest she's a little weirded out by her. She's got this funny way of talking that sets Emma's teeth on edge- this intonation and sultry richness that seems a little too forced to actually be real. Besides, Emma was thinking about this last night- who just lets some random rain-drenched teenager into her home, no questions asked? It's strange. She's strange. Emma knows she's got to get out of this town sooner rather than later, lest this Regina Mills compel her to stay longer.

"Here we are," Regina announces as they come upon a little place called Granny's Diner.

Granny's Diner.

"Seriously?" Emma mumbles under her breath, raising her brows.

Regina ignores it and steps inside, though she doesn't hold the door open for Emma, letting it swing back into her face- and Emma swears she can see a grin turning up the edges of the mayor's lips. Yeah, definitely something off about this lady. With a grunt Emma pushes the door aside and follows Regina in, mouth pressed firmly into a thin line as she observes her surroundings. God, but this place is vomit-worthy. It's a damned relic of the fifties.

"Welcome, Mayor Mills," a young woman with dark, vibrant eyes and a surprising lack of clothes says to Regina as she wheels up to the side of their selected table. "Who's your guest?"

Emma assumes she's a waitress and gives her a tight smile, glancing up and down her exposed figure- tight shorts, a tiny apron, and a midriff shirt. Well. The girl's got confidence, Emma has to admit. She can't fault her that.

Regina doesn't seem to want to talk to this woman but she answers her anyway. "She showed up on my doorstep last night. Her name is Emma," she says with an air of finality, closing the conversation. The waitress takes the hint and nods submissively, fear flickering over her face. Emma slides her eyes to Regina's and wonders just what kind of woman she is.

"Do you know what you'd like to drink?" the girl asks, nervously looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Coffee; black," Regina orders, without looking at the waitress. "Emma?"

"Um, orange juice?" she asks unsurely, hoping they're still serving breakfast. The waitress looks as if she's about to say something but a glare from the mayor silences her, and she hurries away to the kitchen.

For a moment the two sit in stagnant quietude, Emma fidgeting with the menu and Regina looking at her, transfixed. Every time Emma lifted her eyes to the mayor's they were always glued to her- unabashedly staring. It unnerves her. Finally, she puts down the menu and takes a deep breath, leaning forward.

"Did you know you're a little weird?" she ventures, worriedly. "Like, not in a bad way, I guess, but… well, that waitress, she seems almost scared of you. Did you notice that?"

Regina smiles. "I'm a powerful woman, Emma," she starts, leaning forward as well, to meet her. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

O-kay. Ominous. And creepy. Very creepy.

"Do I frighten you?" she asks, folding her arms across the table, obviously quite engrossed in this conversation.

Truth be told, she's dying to know what Snow White's daughter thinks of her.

"Er- no? Not really." Emma leans back and chuckles with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, it's kinda weird that you were so apt to take me in, a complete stranger, but I appreciate it of course. You just don't see many philanthropists these days."

The darker haired woman's lips twist into a subtle, sly smile. "Big words for a little girl." It doesn't surprise her that Snow White's daughter is quite bright for her age. If she recalls correctly, Snow was a little genius herself- in another life.

"I'm not a little girl." Emma sighs, relieved to see the waitress return with a tall glass of orange juice and a steaming coffee. Finally, something to do with her hands.

"Okay, did you ladies decide what you'd like to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," Regina states simply, prompting Emma with a glance.

"Uh, could I get some pancakes? Please?"

The waitress nods hesitantly after another look from Regina and scuttles back into the kitchen with a proverbial tail between her legs.

Emma takes a long gulp from her orange juice and wipes her face with the back of her hand. Regina watches her, quietly put off by the girl's seeming lack of manners. Now that did not smack of her precious perfect mother. Musing on this, Regina takes a sip of her coffee and relishes its heat, keeping the mug hovering beneath her lips as she launches into another topic of discourse.

"So, do you plan to continue running?" she asks, a scheme eager to push past her lips.

The blond lowers her eyes. "I… I'm not sure. To be honest, I didn't really thought this through," she confesses, heavily. "All I know is that I can't go home." She touches the band-aid on her face, steeped in shameful recollection. "I'm a burden to my mother and brother. They're better off without me."

Mother and brother? Inwardly, Regina is sniggering. Snow White must have gotten busy in this world. So much for true love.

"You can't run forever," she warns, softly. "You would be better off settling in one place, getting a job, forming a stable life. Establish yourself away from your family and they'll see you're capable of being on your own."

Emma shakes her head. "You don't know my mom. She's… she hardly ever lets me out of her sight. It's not that she doesn't think I can live on my own, it's that I don't know if she'll ever let me. Not even when I'm an adult. She's kind of… intense."

Regina has to bite her lip to stop herself from agreeing. Instead, she decides to offer a partial anecdote from her past. She's got to convince Emma to stay- after that wonderful conversation she had with Snow White this morning, it's definitely to her advantage to keep the girl here, under her wing. "I ran away once," she says, running her fingers absently over the handle of her mug. "My mother was also… intense. I couldn't shake her until I proved that I didn't need her."

Emma seems to consider this, but before she can say anything the waitress is back with a full plate of pancakes. She places it in front of Emma, who is disgruntled to see a whipped-cream smiley face staring up at her. But the waitress is giddy and pleased with herself as she drops off the bill and flounces away. Emma lifts her fork a pokes at the face, smearing it into an indistinct oval. Regina observes, concluding she much prefers this spawn of Snow White to the actual woman herself; Snow's impenetrable joviality had always been a constant source of irritation. It seems Emma shares Regina's abhorrence of smiley faces- how mocking they are, especially when pasted on high-calorie foods.

"If I stayed here, I'd probably go crazy from quaintess overload," Emma jibes, stuffing a mouthful of pancake into her mouth. "No offense."

"You'd have a job."

"And how can you guarantee that?"

Regina ignores her lack of manners and replies, flippantly, "I can make it happen."

Right. She should have known. Emma swallows her pancake and downs some more juice. She grows serious for a moment and sets her fork on her plate, meeting Regina's eyes. "What's in it for you?"

With feigned offense, Regina startles back, aghast. "My my my, you hardly know me and you're so quick to assume I've got an ulterior motive!"

"You hardly know me but you're so quick to keep me here! I don't get why you're doing this. There's no way you're just going to give me a new life for no apparent reason. All due respect, but everything has its price, ma'am, and so I'm asking you, what's yours?"

Regina absorbs her words thoughtfully, taking a moment to conjure an appropriate deflection. She scoots forward in her chair and places her hand over Emma's; suddenly, she appears delicate and fragile. When she speaks it's with a different voice- much younger, much more vulnerable, and its eeriness captivates Emma to the point where she forgets how uncomfortable she is at the contact of their hands.

"Let's just say, I know what it's like to be where you are."

And for what it's worth, she isn't entirely lying.

* * *

"Are you sure this is it?" August asks, pulling up to Storybrooke's visiting center with a spell of uncertainty.

"There aren't any other Storybrookes in Maine, August," Mary Margaret assures him, hopping out of the car as soon as they're parked. She glances around and stuffs her hands in her pockets- a nervous habit she taught to her daughter. "Regina says she lives near the edge of town. If we walk that direction we're bound to run into it. That's the way she told me to take."

August nods and the two start off on the sidewalk, both entrenched in thought. Mary Margaret's heart is beating so rapidly she feels she might be sick; she hasn't seen Regina- or anyone from her life, besides August- in sixteen years. She wonders what her stepmother is doing here, how Emma just happened to wander into her clutches, if there's anyone else here that she might know. Though she, August, and Emma moved around a lot, Mary Margaret was loath to go too far. She's always been hesitant to explore this world, as desperate as she is to find her Charming. It's almost too painful to think about seeing him again, since he won't remember a single thing; he won't know she's his True Love, he won't know Emma is his daughter. All that will be gone and… she's not sure she's strong enough to face it.

Her trepidation grows as they continue walking- Regina would want to settle somewhere that held many of her former subjects, wouldn't she? The chances are high and Mary's terrified she'll see someone, she'll feel those feelings that she's repressed for so many years. Goosebumps prickle her flesh because there's something about this place- something she can't put her finger on- that makes her uneasy. So she keeps her eyes glued to her feet and tries to slow her heart, hands wound tightly around her purse as if to prevent her thoughts from racing.

August senses her discomfort and reaches over to rub her back, soothingly. "We'll get her back, don't worry, Highness," he says with unshakable confidence. But he doesn't know that Mary Margaret isn't as worried about that as much as she is about what she'll have to do to get her back. There are no favors in Regina's world.

They're almost upon what looks like Regina's mansion (for that's what she told Mary to look for over the phone) when a man in a truck drives up alongside them and rolls down his window, turning down the Eminem he's blasting so he can presumably speak to them.

"Hey, I haven't seen you two around here before. Are you lost?"

August steps in front of Mary protectively and blinks, speechless, when he sees the man inside. That voice. The brunette peers out from behind his shoulder and immediately regrets doing so- for when she sees the man's face, Mary Margaret falters. Her muscles freeze and she stands solid and stony as a statue, not even blinking, or breathing, or swallowing, as her world descends into a blurry haze. All she can see are his eyes- his eyes- and she's powerless against them. She's powerless against him.

She knew it, she felt it, she did, she knew he was here-

Her Charming.

* * *

"So, this is where the mayor lives," David announces, pointing the massive white mansion looming at them from behind the trees. David, Mary Margaret learns, is his name. David.

"Thanks so much for your help," August voices for them both, knowing Mary is quite incapable of speech at this point- indeed, it's a marvel she's even standing, and he can't blame her.

David's eyes linger on the tiny, fragile form of Mary Margaret and he finds himself smiling when their gazes meet, though he doesn't know why. "Did I catch your names?" he asks, quirking a brow, though he really only wants the woman's.

"Mary Margaret," comes her weak reply, and August glances at her with worry and pride. He notices that David looks satisfied enough with just her name, but he chimes in with his own anyway.

"It's nice to meet you both. I hope to see you around again. And hey, if you need anything, I live just down the road. Feel free to stop by anytime." It's polite and cordial enough but something inside of David stirs and he feels the need to offer more. He pulls out his wallet and hands Mary a business card with his number on it, but when he extends his hand she notices something glint in the sunlight, and her stomach clenches painfully.

A wedding band.

Stunned, she can't accept the card, or move, or breathe, or think- her mouth hangs open in a silent scream and August, who arguably knows her better than anyone, feels the agony of this betrayal just as heavily as she does. He takes the offered card from David's hovering hand and smiles tightly, barely repressed outrage flaring through him and threatening to erupt through his fists.

Now David's feeling a little weirded out by this pair and their strange reactions to the simplest things he does, but he reminds himself that this town itself is a little strange so he's in no place to judge. He summons an unsure smile before hopping back into his truck and peeling off down the road.

Mary Margaret's eyes numbly trail after his truck until it disappears around the corner, and August reaches for her arm as if to console her, though he knows whatever small comfort he can give will be powerless to lessen her grief. At August's touch Mary Margaret turns up the corners of her lips faintly in a pitiable attempt to assure him that she is alright and he need not worry, but they both know she's lying. She has lost the battle against her emotions and tears bloom in her eyelids and spill down her cheeks. Mary Margaret doesn't understand why it happens, but before she knows it she is marching up to Regina's door and August is hustling after her, concerned by this sudden surge of determination that she herself doesn't even expect.

She bangs loudly on the "mayor's" door and does not stop until it swings open and Regina's face appears, smugly, behind it.

Mary pauses to observe her stepmother's face, her breath coming in ragged heaves and her eyes reddened with despair. She says nothing because she cannot think of the words to convey what she's feeling- she only stares maliciously at the raven-haired woman with tearfully murderous eyes. She has not changed much in this world, looking much the same as the last time Mary Margaret saw her, in another life. Still the same mockingly cold eyes, still the same pale mischievous face, still the same veiled mask of bitter hurt and rejection that has only ever been visible to Snow White, who can still see it now despite the fact that she has disintegrated into this dim reflection of her former self.

Regina has the audacity to smile, crossing her arms over her chest and remarking, "Why look at you, Mary Margaret. My, have you changed, and I'm sorry to say it's not for the better." She looks her up and down, her smile widening to a wicked grin. "Nice name, by the way. Sentimental, are we?"

Now, Mary Margaret has never been prone to violence in this life, though she dallied with it by necessity in her last- and yet what happens next does not feel unnatural or wrong to her. Indeed, it is so many kinds of right that she's blinded by it, and has to take a step back to register what she's done. She lunged for the woman who ruined her happiness, funneling all her frustration, madness, and misery into the length of her arm, so that her fingers tingled with its energy- and then she swung her outstretched palm into the woman's cheek with such unanticipated force that Regina staggered backward with a growl.

The mayor calmly holds a hand to her smarting face and returns upright, fixing a mildly impressed gaze on the other woman. "Well," she quips, with a quirked brow, "You really have changed."

By the time August reaches them he's at Mary Margaret's defense, flanking her right with a sinister stare pinned on Regina. But she doesn't notice him, nor does she particularly care about his presence, because she's too fascinated by how much Snow White has transformed (not to mention, she's not too threatened by his dopey demeanor; she immediately recognizes him as Pinocchio and not a second child of Snow's. Ah, she misses the time when he was wooden- she could have put him to use, warmed her house with a nice big fire. Pity).

"Where is my daughter?" Mary asks in a threatening tone, taking a step toward Regina to prove she's not in the mood for games.

"Mmm, probably relaxing in the spare bedroom I prepared for her, reading a book containing some remarkably familiar fairytales. Wonder where she got that."

Mary Margaret presses her lips into a thin line, teeth clenched behind them. "What do you want from me, Regina? Haven't you taken enough?"

Regina lets out a sharp, piercing laugh. "I'm not so sure I've taken anything from you, Miss Blanchard. Your daughter ran away, and by some unfortunate stroke of fate ended up at my doorstep. Don't pretend to imagine I could have planned this. Believe me, I was perfectly content to live my life here without a single charming member of your family to bother me." But then her eyes light up and she remarks, "Oh- except for your darling husband. I see you ran into him on the way here; it's a shame he's remarried, he seemed quite taken with you. Too bad true love isn't such is a powerful thing in this world." Regina is so painfully satisfied with herself that Mary Margaret quails, unable to argue with the woman.

Instead she lowers her eyes in quiet defeat and asks, softly, "Why did you bring me here? How did you find me?"

"Once I learned your last name the rest wasn't hard to figure out. Really, my dear, you could stand to use a touch of originality. There aren't many Blanchards around here- especially none conveniently bearing the first and middle name of your dearly departed mother."

"What do you want, Regina?"

"What I want," she begins, steadily, "is to take away the thing you love most." Regina lets it hang in the air for a static moment before she continues. "You see, Snow White, your daughter has unwittingly presented me with a most wonderful opportunity." Her dark eyes are like a hawk's, full of predatory intent. "I suggest you listen very carefully to what I'm about to say."

Mary Margaret takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and listens with muted horror to her stepmother's demands.

* * *

"Psst."

Emma looks up from her book and glances around. Did she just hear something? Huh. Nothing. O-kay. She goes back to reading with raised brows.

"Psst. Emma."

Alright, that was definitely her name. She closes her book and sets it on the bed, peering around for a sign of what was making the noise. The hell could someone want with her at one o'clock in the morning? A rustle comes from the window and Emma hesitantly steps toward it, stealing a look between the venetian blinds… only to find the waitress from this morning staring back at her, straddling the thickest arm of a tree perhaps two feet away. God, Emma thinks to herself- can this town get any more cliché?

Um. Okay. She should do something. The girl fiddles with the window hatch and then pulls it up, poking her head out into the brisk night air.

"Hey! Remember me?" the brunette whispers roguishly, grin taking up half her face.

"Uh, you're… the waitress from Granny's Diner? Right? I never did catch your name."

"Ruby! I'm Ruby. It's nice to finally meet you for real." But there's a reason she's here, so she cuts to the chase in a lowered voice. "Some of the girls and I are going to crash at the B&B and we wanted to invite you. I promise it's no big deal, unless you can't handle chick flicks, nail polish, and junk food."

Emma's stomach turns at the thought but she forces a smile and nods, deciding to take Regina's advice and maybe… try to get to know the people around here, maybe network a little, find out if anyone's hiring. And Ruby seems nice enough. Kind of intense, but whatever, she's in no place to judge. "Um… is Regina going to be upset about this?"

Ruby blanches subtly but recovers with an overly bright smile. "It'll be fine! It's not like we're kidnapping you or anything- and we'll have you back before she wakes up. Besides, you're a guest. You don't owe her anything."

The blond begs to differ but holds her tongue. Regina's fed her and given her a place to sleep and bathe, so… she kind of does owe her. But at the same time, where is her sense of adventure? Chick flicks make her want to gag herself with a chainsaw, but junk food she can do. "Let me get my jacket," she says less-than-confidently, but Ruby's thrilled all the same.

The climb down the window is less harrowing than Emma had anticipated, but she's still thankful to be down on solid ground at the end of it all. She trails behind Ruby, but not without a guilty backward glance at the mayor's mansion. Regina is weird. Emma's really not sure this is going to turn out as fine and dandy as Ruby's assuming.

It doesn't take long to get to Granny's B&B (does this Granny own everything around here, or is she just some romantic epithet?), and before Emma even has time to brace herself for a plethora of giggling idiotic girls, she's inside a charming little room with only two pretty blondes who, much to her surprise, are actually tame. Maybe there are some normal people here after all, she thinks, hopefully.

"Okay guys, this is Emma! Emma, this is Kathryn, and this is Ashley."

Kathryn seems somewhat older and smiles demurely, welcoming Emma to the room. The other, Ashley, is debatably younger but much more timid, having only awarded the newcomer with a shy smile and wave.

Ruby wastes no time, plopping down on the ground beside her friends after loading the DVD player. "So girls, what colors did we decide?" she asks perkily, dumping out her black leather purse- which was filled with a rainbow of nail polishes. Emma didn't even know half these colors existed, let alone were mass-produced in tiny glass bottles.

"No chick flick," Ashley pleads, with a voice just as high and sweet as Emma thought it'd be. "I forgot the tissues. How about some music instead? We can just chat, and- get to know Emma," she finishes sheepishly, twiddling her thumbs.

Ruby and Kathryn share an awkward look before the former leans over and whispers in Emma's ear, "The other day Ash and her boyfriend had a fight. She's not normally like this, I swear." Before the topic of interest could notice she was being whispered about, Ruby snaps back up and announces, "Okay! Let me grab my CDs. Be right back."

The girl flounces out of the room, leaving Emma, Kathryn, and Ashley in an uncomfortable silence. Kathryn's quick to dispel it.

"So, Emma, what brings you here to Storybrooke?"

With a nod, Ashley encourages Emma to answer.

"Oh," Emma frowns, gaze falling to her hands. "Um, it's kind of complicated. I dunno. Things weren't so great at home, I guess. I got kicked out of school. Mom was really upset. I thought she'd be better off without me." She shrugs.

Ashley eyes her curiously, and Kathryn assumes a very motherly mien. "You poor thing," she coos, tentatively inching closer to the girl, wanting to console her yet unsure of their boundaries. "Is that why you've got…" Kathryn trails off, gesturing to Emma's bandaged face. "Does… does your mother…?"

"Oh! Oh, no, no," Emma defends, shaking her head fervently. "It's from… school. But- oh, hey, Ruby's back." And she's extremely grateful for the diversion.

"So I've got Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, Nicki Minaj, Linkin Park, Death Cab for Cutie, and…"

But before she can finish, Emma's eagerly shouting, "Death Cab for Cutie! Or. I mean. Whatever you guys want."

But Ruby's happy to see Emma excited about something, so she confirms, "You're the guest, so Death Cab it is!"

By the time the disk's loaded and I Will Possess Your Heart plays its opening notes, Ruby, Ashley, and Kathryn have already selected colors and started painting; but Emma's leaning on the side of the bed with her eyes closed, tapping her leg to keep the beat.

Kathryn notices and makes an effort to include her. "So, Emma… how'd you meet Mayor Mills?"

Ruby and Ashley visibly tense and after she's opened her eyes Emma wonders why the hell everyone in this town seems so scared shitless of Regina. "Ha, it's kind of funny actually. It was raining and I'd been running for a while, and I had to pee. I thought Regina's house was a town hall or museum or something, so barged right in. And then she was nice enough to lend me a spare room and some clothes."

Ashley guffaws, "Regina? Nice?" and Ruby echoes this with a disgruntled cluck.

"Mayor Mills hates nearly everyone in this town," Kathryn explains, tersely, "My husband and I excluded. We know her pretty well, but even I'm shocked that she did something nice for a stranger like you. It's not like her. At all."

"She likes you for some reason," Ruby intones, emphatically.

Emma's puzzled now and wants to know more. "I don't think I did anything to make her like me. If anything I probably pissed her off." She takes a moment to muse. "Why does she hate everyone?"

"Nobody knows," Ashley replies, and Kathryn and Ruby voice their agreement. "It's just always been like this."

Huh. This Regina certainly is a mystery, isn't she? Well. If she likes her, maybe Emma can do some digging. She has to admit, she's very interested in this woman's past. How'd she get like this? Must be something juicy.

"So is that why you guys are scared of her?" Emma probes, scooting forward into their circle.

Ruby puffs out her chest and makes as if to protest, but then deflates and nods miserably.

"She has a lot of influence here," Kathryn supplies with a sigh. "She has the power to destroy you, if she wants."

"And she's done it before," Ashley adds, with a face that tells Emma she's seen it happen.

"Just be careful around her, Emma," Ruby cautions. "You don't know what she's up to."

"Okay, you guys are making it sound like she's a witch or something. Cut it out, would you? I have to sleep in that house, you know."

Sheesh. Is this a ghost story or what? Emma shakes her head in disbelief, but before long the three girls are back to their prior chatter and she's freed from their allegations. Whatever. Look, Regina helped her when nobody else did and as far as Emma's concerned, that's all that matters. Besides, she isn't scared of her. She's not. In fact, it's quite the opposite.

If Regina likes her for some reason, then that's that. That's all it is.

Besides, if she's being totally honest? Emma doesn't think the mayor is half bad, either.


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't let you go through with this!"

They're sitting in the car, Mary's head bent over the steering wheel and August pounding his fists in the passenger seat, and she hasn't uttered a word since her conversation with Regina. But that goes almost unnoticed, for her companion has done enough expostulating for them both.

"She's asking too much, Snow. Look, there's ways around this. We just have to track Emma down, get to her before Regina does. There are only so many places she could be. Right? Snow, please- you can't actually be considering this. _Snow_!"

What happens next is so much of a shock to August that it silences him completely and may or may not have caused him to cower.

"_I have to_!" She shouts with a shout that is more a queen's than a tired and miserable woman's. She lifts her head and with red, tearful eyes lances through August with disconsolate finality. "You do not know her as I do, August, and I can't expect you to understand." A sniffle betrays her and she lets out a haggard sigh, dolefully aware now of the fury she just unleashed upon her only friend. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "But this is the only way."

"I don't accept that," August finally finds the courage to say, hoarse and quiet though it is said. "There is always another way. You of all people should know that."

His words pierce her straight through the heart but she remains rigid, affirmed in her decision. "This world isn't like our world," comes her steady reply.

"You're giving up."

"I'm doing what I have to do to ensure the safety of my daughter."

"Safety! You call living with that woman _safety_?"

"No, but it is necessary for the time being. Please try to trust me. I know what I'm doing."

And this is when he snaps. "You know, I don't think you do!" August's rage has always been like an ill-contained Mount Vesuvius- though it lies dormant for great lengths of time and more often than not presents a nonthreatening front, when it does erupt it does so with such unparalleled force that it devastates everyone and everything around it. Hot and fiery and tempestuous and destructive is his temper- and all, presently, funneled at Mary, who is in no earthly position to withstand its blast. "You don't know what you're doing, Snow, because if you did then we wouldn't be sitting here wasting our time, you wouldn't be letting Regina get away with this, and Emma wouldn't have ever run away! Do you realize how much pressure you put on her as a child? Always telling her she's destined to save everyone, that she's got some magical fucking destiny? If you knew what you were doing then- then how could you have done that to her? She was too young when you told her, Snow, and now you're paying the price! She can't handle it! She could hardly handle _high school_! And whose fault do you think that is? Huh? Who do you think is responsible for ruining our _one shot_ at getting home?"

His ire seeps under Mary's skin and infects her, to the point where her eyes narrow and her tears dry and she flips the unlock button on the car and orders, tersely, "Get out," leaving no room for negotiation. If there is one thing in this world that Mary Margaret is most insecure about, it is her parenting- it is her caring for the one thing that matters most in the world, her daughter, her Emma. She can't deny the validity to some of the points August has made but she is too pained to give them any credence; she needs him out of her car, out of her mind, so she can take the time to lick her wounds and carry out Regina's orders without further degradation.

Surprisingly he puts up no fight, merely climbs out of the car and slams the door, heading down the sidewalk before Mary even has time to start the engine. Good. She's glad he's gone. It'll make this less… what. The truth is it won't make it less _anything_. It is undeniably the worst thing Regina has ever subjected her to, and she wouldn't have agreed if she didn't know that it was the only way to keep Emma safe. She feels sick to her stomach as she pulls the car into gear and lurches into a slow roll down the street, sentences and words forming like misplaced puzzle pieces in her head as she tries to summon the right ones to say.

But there is nothing _right_ to say, because there is nothing _right_ in this situation.

It simply _is_, it simply _has_ to be, and Mary Margaret is powerless against it.

* * *

It's ten o'clock before Emma makes it back to the mayor's house; exhausted and bedraggled by the time she's climbed up the tree and finagled her way through the window. She falls to the carpeted floor with a thump and groans, rolling onto her back as her head blooms with a dull pain.

"Good morning," she hears from the opposite end of the room, and instantly jumps up- too fast, it would seem, as her stance sways and she gingerly reaches for her temple.

"Hey, uh- what's up?" she answers sheepishly, grimacing nervously at the ground.

"I heard all about your little excursion last night," Regina begins, coolly, "it would seem it wasn't sanctioned by Mrs. Lucas."

"Mrs. Lucas is- uh…"

"Granny, of the infamous Granny's Diner," the mayor supplies, quirking a brow.

"Right. Um. Sorry about that, I didn't know… Ruby did say we were 'crashing the B&B' but I assumed she was kidding."

"Well," Regina begins, smoothing her hands over her grey skirt and rising from the bed, upon which she'd hitherto been perched like a vulture awaiting its prey, "Mrs. Lucas suggested that in penance for the mess you girls left, you help her close shop in the diner tonight." From Regina's tone, Emma knew she wasn't going to get out of this. Well, whatever. It's not like she hadn't served community service before.

"Okay, sure," she says, shrugging. "I don't mind helping out. What time should I head over there?"

"Seven, I believe she said."

Emma nods. The two stand in silence for a moment, Regina observing Emma curiously and Emma pressing her lips together awkwardly. "So… aside from pissing off Mrs. Lucas, was what I did last night okay? I mean, hanging out with Ruby and them."

"Of course. I wouldn't want to hinder your social activities. But I would prefer, in the future, that you let me know if you have plans. I thought you'd run off again."

Emma chuckles and shakes her head flippantly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to leave this five star hotel for some cheap dump in the middle of nowhere. And besides, it's not so bad here. I mean, I've never lived in a small town like this before, but it's kind of nice. And you said I could find a job, so… I dunno, maybe I could stay."

Regina smiles tightly, victorious once again. Plant the seed and it will sprout. "Well, you're always welcome here, Emma. I'll look for a job suitable to you. In the meantime, you may want to invest in some new clothes."

"That'd be great if I had any money," the girl quips, slinking toward the bed and flopping ungracefully onto its cottony surface. It wasn't completely true- she did have some money stowed away, but hardly enough to go out and buy a new wardrobe. "You guys got a thrift store around here? I could probably get one or two things there."

"Don't worry about money."

"But- hell, Madam Mayor, your funds can't be unlimited!"

"They're not," Regina says smoothly, dismissing Emma's vulgarity. "If you're worried about paying me back, you can do so by doing well at your job."

Things like this just don't happen to Emma. People like this don't come into her life. Here she is, sleeping in a goddamn mansion, being offered a new wardrobe free of cost by some rich- albeit creepy- lady, who asks for nothing in return. Emma doesn't understand. None of this makes any sense. "Wow," she breathes, "okay, thanks."

Regina heads toward the door, but when she reaches the frame she stops and turns around, looking like she's forgotten something. "You should know," she says, softly, "that your mother came by this morning looking for you."

Emma's heart catches in her throat and she swallows thickly, body stiffening.

"I hope you don't mind that I told her you'd meet with her at noon. I think it's for the best that you two reach some kind of truce." Regina's faux sympathy is at its peak, and Emma buys every word of it.

"Yeah. You're right," she concedes, dejectedly. "I guess it's got to happen sooner or later."

When she's safely down the hallway and away from Emma's searching eyes, Regina allows herself the luxury of a triumphant smirk.

The Charmings, she muses, are as easy to manipulate as ever.

* * *

"You gave us quite a scare, Emma," Mary Margaret says, and it hits the table with a dull, soundless twang, but Emma hears it as if it's trumpeting in her ear.

"Oops," she says irreverently, eyes fixed on the twisted knot of fingers on her lap. Mary's eyes practically flay her alive and Emma grimaces, offering an obligatory, "Sorry," though they both know she doesn't mean it.

Really, she shouldn't be lashing out, not now. Emma recognizes she's really upset the equilibrium of her mother's life this time, more so than she has with any of her other stunts, and she needs to tread lightly. And something is different about Mary today. Her eyes are tinged with a different type of frustration and sadness, something Emma would label as hopelessness if she didn't know better. Her mother is many things but hopeless is not one of them. Hope is like a religion in their family, one by which her mother swears at a nauseating frequency. The fact that she now looks exhausted and forlorn beyond the point of hope is disturbing to Emma.

"There's something we need to talk about," the pale-faced woman finally says, and it is less of a promise than it is a surrender.

"I know," Emma replies, lowly, voice stuck at the base of her throat as if it too is hiding from her mother's retribution. But even in her shame she can't hold her words down for long, so she shifts forward in her seat and starts, "But, mom, I want to say th- "

"Please," Mary Margaret says, quietly, "let me talk first."

Emma sits back in her seat with begrudging acquiescence, tongue pinned by her teeth to the bottom of her mouth. In spite of herself her heart has accelerated; her mother has never doled out any harsh punishments for her other transgressions, but this time something is different and Emma doesn't know what to expect.

"I knew this would come one day," her mother admits, and Emma can't quite make out her tone. "I know you've never felt like you belonged in our home, that I put too much pressure on you, that you were frustrated by our financial status. I know you've probably wanted to run away for a very long time. And I don't blame you. The truth is, Emma," she begins, pausing for a moment to run her tongue over her bottom lip, "you don't belong in our home." It takes a great deal of energy for Mary Margaret to clear her dried throat and continue, Regina's threat pervasively resounding in her head. "You never have belonged with us, with me, because I am not your mother."

Emma Blanchard's world ends in that moment.

She doesn't remember the taste of air in her lungs, doesn't remember the sensation of pushing saliva down her throat, doesn't remember any feeling other than cold, raw, anger. But it isn't anger. It's a complicated pattern of rage and confusion and pain and betrayal and a thousand other things she can't find names for; it's more than her heart has ever had to hold and she feels it back up and regurgitate, spilling hotly over into her eyelids and down her cheeks before she can stop it. And the worst part is her not-mother isn't moving, or reacting, or saying anything, and normally when Emma cries Mary Margaret can hardly take it and is beside herself trying to cheer her up, but now, Emma stares forward at her and can't recognize the eyes that are staring back. They are alien and unapologetic and compel her to believe that she will never be whole again.

Emma can't think of a single thing to say. She can't tell if her heart is beating too fast or if it's _stopped_ beating altogether; either way it's making her feel sick and she's terrified that if she opens her mouth her body will empty itself right then and there on the linoleum floor. She tries to inhale but can't, her attempt stymied by the pressure forming in her reddened nose.

"You should live your life freely, here, without us," Mary Margaret says flatly, every inch of her lapsing into a queer stillness. "The mayor told me you want to stay and I have no place to object. I will have August bring your things. But if you would like us to visit, if you ever get lonely, we'll only be twenty minutes awa- "

"_Fuck_ you," the girl seethes, but it's more watery and less powerful than she'd envisioned. She can't bear to look at this _stranger_'s face any more; she has to get out, she has to be anywhere but here.

She doesn't care that she's made a scene running out of the diner, she doesn't care that everyone's staring at her through the window as she runs without purpose down the sidewalk. Tears stream freely down her face and she makes no move to stop them. Her body feels like it's been run over by an eighteen-wheeler and she can't breathe, can't even remember _how_ to breathe, and there's a tight ball of heat clogging her chest that is burning her from the inside out.

She doesn't know where to go. Her impulsive instincts take her to the forest, where she launches herself at a tree and swings harshly at its trunk with as much force as she can manage, knuckles ripping against the roughness of the bark. She lets out a haggard, wild scream, tearing at the tree with her nails and feet and assailing it with an incessant onslaught of primal violence.

This is how she grieves. And she isn't done until she's lost more blood than tears.

By the time she gets back to Regina's manor, it's well past seven and she's well past grief.

She's just empty.

Inside the manor, Regina's trying- earnestly trying- to hide her smugness, but it's proving to be quite a difficult task, considering that after all these years she's finally got what she wanted.

It was interesting to put Snow White to the test- make her choose between her Charming and her daughter. Regina's ultimatum had been simple: alienate her daughter into her enemy's clutches or watch dear "David" suffer a potentially fatal accident, and Snow's choice, suffice it to say, didn't at all surprise her stepmother. Indeed, Regina expected it. There is absolutely nothing Snow wouldn't do for Charming, even if, in this life, she will never be with him. And now Regina is finally victorious. She has sabotaged Snow's happiness and taken control of her daughter in one fell swoop.

Regina saunters into her kitchen to pour a self-congratulatory glass of cider, but stops mid-stride when her little blond ward pushes open the door and stumbles into the foyer.

"Emma? Are you alright?" Of course Regina already knows the answer, but that isn't part of the game. She pokes her head out of the kitchen and espies Emma's bedraggled form, just as heartbroken as she'd expected. When she sees Emma's bloodied knuckles and fingernails, however, she's actually surprised. "What on earth happened?"

The girl shrugs listlessly. She doesn't want to get into it, especially not with a woman she's only known for two days. "She says I can stay here."

"Your hands," Regina murmurs, advancing, "what happened to them?"

"I, uh, fell, on the way back," Emma lies less-than-glibly. "Can I borrow some more of that peroxide?"

The mayor lets out a sigh and says, "Follow me. I'd better help you with that."

"Actually- " Emma interrupts Regina's procession up the stairs, "I want to be alone for a while. If that's okay."

"Certainly," she says, unsurely. "Do you remember where the first aid kit is?"

Emma nods and starts upstairs but is halted by Regina's voice.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

Her back still facing her host, Emma insists, "Yeah. Just have a lot of thinking to do."

When she hears the door to Emma's room shut, Regina's lips curve upward and she makes her way back into the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of cider and raises a toast to her triumph.

* * *

"So, here's your apron, and as soon as you memorize the menu you can start!"

Ruby's all too cheery for Emma's tastes; but then again, Emma's been in a particularly sour mood since yesterday when her not-brother came bearing the grand total of four boxes containing everything she owns. She's spent the better half of two days lying in the darkness of her bedroom tearing out the pages of that stupid fairytale book her not-mother gave her, and then later sorting through her worldly possessions and moving in, fully, to the mayor's spare bedroom. She still hasn't told Regina about what happened between she and her mother- or anyone else, for that matter, though Ruby won't stop asking. She'd witnessed the scene, after all.

"Thanks, Ruby," Emma finally says, and she means it. "It's nice of Mrs. Lucas to hire me after I trashed her B&B and skipped out on community service. Which I'm still sorry about, by the way. I just…" she trails off, sighs. She just what?

"Hey, it's okay," Ruby is quick to assure her, with a comforting pat on her shoulder. "Gran understands. She's worried about you. We all kind of are."

"You guys don't even know me," Emma retorts with a chortle.

"We have a way of caring about everyone in this town, even strangers." Ruby's smile reaches her eyes, but it's sad, worried, and does nothing to console Emma. "And hey, you're not going to be a stranger for much longer, yeah?"

"Yeah," Emma affirms, cocking a limp half-smile. She shakes her head and inhales sharply. "Sorry, this is just a little overwhelming. I'm not used to this whole caring for strangers thing. Not a lot of that where I come from."

"Storybrooke is a special place," and her voice practically sparkles. "It's almost… magical. I've been here my whole life and I can't imagine being anywhere else. You know? I have a hunch you'll fall in love with it like I have." Ruby winks playfully and chucks the girl's shoulder. "Now get to work memorizing that menu. I want you to start as soon as possible!"

Emma nods and folds the uniform and menu against her chest, sliding out the door before Ruby has the chance to start talking again. She's got so much to say all the time that it's actually impressive, but less so today. Emma's got a burgeoning headache and aches for the quiet solace of Regina's guest room, so she can lie in bed and go over this menu. Truth be told she never envisioned waitressing in her future, but it seems she doesn't have much of a choice. It won't be so bad, she tells herself. She's not a huge fan of people but it's money and she'll take what she can get. She's not in a position to be picky.

"Emma, I trust your meeting with Ruby went well?"

The truth is that Emma expected Regina to be at work at the town hall; this habit of the mayor's, popping up seemingly everywhere at once, is enough to set Emma's nerves on edge. The situation is already awkward to begin with: living with a woman who she hardly knows, who is kind to her for no reason Emma can deduce, who she owes practically everything. Not to mention she's an incredibly intimidating woman and she's even more intimidating when she appears unexpectedly at every turn.

"Oh, hi, I- didn't know if you would be here for lunch, or, um, yeah. Hi. Yeah, it went well. I got the job," Emma says, brandishing the menu and uniform.

"Wonderful," Regina demurs, face as smooth as ever. "I thought I'd catch you after your meeting- I wanted to drop off your debit card."

Before Emma even has the luxury of objecting or questioning, the mayor drops a brand new card on the table in the foray. Shiny, stiff, flawless. Emma has never had one of those, let alone any money to put in it. She should be happy to receive it but there's a worry poking at the back of her head, one that cautions her about being beholden to anyone. It's not that she doesn't trust Regina, as she's had no reason not to, but it's all too much. Her thoughts are warped out of focus.

"I took the liberty of opening a checking account in your name, a place where you can deposit your earnings. I hope I haven't overstepped my bounds."

"No, yeah, this is- wow. I just, uh. Why are you doing all this for me? And don't brush it off with the whole 'this town is a magical place' bullshit because I can buy that from Ruby but not from you. I don't understand," she says, quietly. "People don't just take in strangers and load them up with cash and give them a job and a place to stay. People just don't do that."

Regina takes a step forward and dons a close-lipped smile eerily similar to Ruby's, sad and pitying and not at all what Emma wants to see. "Not everything needs an explanation, Emma."

"But _this_ does, because it doesn't make any sense!" Emma shakes her head and steps back, the heat of confusion and fear seeping into her chest. "There's always a catch," she insists, face as jaded as her voice. "People are evil and cruel and malicious and selfish and they don't do anything unless it does something for them in return. But I haven't done anything for you. So why are you doing all this for me?"

"I'm not very popular in this town," Regina says after a pause. "My views are very traditional, as is the style of my leadership. I'm not ashamed of the choices I've made as mayor, because they have all been in Storybrooke's best interest, but I've had my moments of weakness. It's hard to feel like you're doing good in the world when so many people believe you aren't capable of it. My helping you isn't so much a ploy to prove them wrong as it is an opportunity to feel like I'm actually doing something for someone else. As fate would have it, you walked through my door and gave me that opportunity. That's why I'm doing all this, Emma. I'm trying to make a change in my own life and yours, at the same time."

It's so genuine, Emma thinks to herself, the way Regina weaves this epic of morality. Half of her wants to believe it and half of her knows she can't, that people can't possibly work like that, that this town is no exception. Emma's known a lot of people in her life and none of them have ever afforded her the benefit of the doubt, the kindness, the sheer lack of judgment that Regina, and Ruby, and every fucking person in this town has. She can't make sense of any of it and now her headache's only getting worse.

"I don't know what to say," Emma admits, subtly tightening. "I'm not very good at thank you."

Regina's red lips split apart to make way for a broad grin, and she picks up the card from the table, raising it toward the girl. "Think of it as an investment in both our futures."

After a moment's hesitation Emma, wraps her fingers around it, its plastic edges biting caustically into her palm.

* * *

"So apparently opening a checking account requires a deposit or something," Emma explains as she and Ruby scale the sidewalk in search of a clothing store, "And Regina dumped in three hundred fucking dollars, for clothes and stuff. I told her I didn't need new clothes now that my- " she pauses, mulls over what to call him, " -brother dropped some off, but I guess she doesn't take no for an answer."

"Yeah, Regina's like that," the brunette mumbles, still in disbelief over the whole affair. "I mean, she's stubborn, not generous. _That_ I don't get."

"Me either," Emma admits, shoving her hands into the pockets of her loose jeans. "I mean, it's not like I've ever done anything for her. She said something about wanting to try and be a good person, but I dunno. I want to buy it but I'm low on cash, if you know what I mean."

"That's a shitty metaphor," Ruby chuckles, "but yeah. I get it. Oh, hey, this place has some good stuff," she exclaims, a red lacquered fingernail shooting past Emma's face toward a shop a few feet away. "It's not too pricy either."

"Sounds good." Emma wheels toward it, braid swinging back and forth across her back. She's not sure she jives with Ruby's style, but this place doesn't look as bad as the waitress's normal fare.

Unfortunately Emma's too busy staring at the ground to notice the gentleman in front of her going in the opposite direction, and when she does notice him it's only because she's face first in his suede jacket.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, I wasn't looking," she burbles, stepping back rapidly. "I hope I didn't mess up your coat or anything."

The man's eyes are perched piercingly atop his sharp, angular face, and he wears the same hawk-like look Emma has seen so many times on the mayor. Something about him makes her uneasy, but she doesn't know what it is. It may be the way his bony knuckles clutch at his cane like a scepter, or the way his lips peel apart to reveal a jagged yellow smile.

"Not to worry, dearie. It is just as much my fault as yours," the man cedes, his voice higher and thinner than she'd imagined. "I haven't seen you around here before. What's your name?"

Emma shoots a wary look at Ruby, whose face has lost all its color (not that it had much to lose anyway, but that is beside the point). "I'm Emma," she tells him, eyes fixed on his. "I'm kind of new here."

A shadow passes over his face and he tenses, leaning forward on his cane pointedly. "Emma? What a lovely name," he drawls, though it doesn't feel like a compliment. "I'm Mr. Gold. I run the pawnshop down the street from Granny's Diner." Gold produces a business card from his pocket and hands it to her. "You should stop by some time, have a chat," and that smile is there again, sending shivers down her spine. "I can tell you all you need to know about Storybrooke. Bit of an expert."

"Uh, yeah. Okay." The girl takes his card and scans it briefly before popping her head back up to smile at him apprehensively.

"Ta for now." Gold inclines his head and brushes past her, his slight limp carrying him spryly down the sidewalk. Emma waits until he's out of earshot before she rounds on Ruby.

"Who the _hell_ was that creep?"

"Someone you don't want to cross," Ruby says, hollowly. Her voice is as distant as her eyes, but only for a moment; within seconds she's flipped a switch and brightened significantly, hopping off toward the shop. "Come on, let's get started!"

No one in this town ever wants to clarify their cryptic ass statements, Emma grumbles to herself as she follows Ruby into the shop.

Perhaps she'd have to start doing her own digging if she wanted answers.

* * *

"It's not like you to take in ragamuffins off the street, your majesty."

"I wish I could say it's not like you to barge into my home unannounced, Mr. Gold, but here we are. What do you want?"

The meeting of predators is characteristically fraught with tension and ire, but Regina and Mr. Gold are terrifyingly civil, surveying one another from a safe distance with the ever-present unspoken threat of attack. They've been locked in a proverbial stalemate ever since Regina's "temper tantrum" of a curse, as Gold calls it, and only interact when it is absolutely imperative. She's curious as to why he's here; he's implied it has to do with her guest, but why that would be of interest to him is beyond her. His attention is hardly sought after. The last thing she needs is for it to be on her or on Emma.

Gold stretches back in the armchair across from her desk, eyes boring into her- she isn't looking, but she can feel it.

"I'm very busy. If you're here for a reason, which I assume you are, I'd appreciate it if you'd cut to the chase." She sighs and slides against the cushioned back of her chair, arms crossed lightly over her legs. Regina isn't going to let her body betray any sign of concern or bother. Gold feeds off that kind of thing and she's never been one to appease his appetite.

"A Miss Emma Blanchard, so I hear it, has taken up residence under your roof. I want to know why," he says. "It isn't everyday that the daughter of Snow White is given charity by the Evil Queen."

"_How_ did you know that?" Regina snarls, feathers noticeably ruffled.

He grins smugly. "I know everything," is his simple answer. "So tell me, Regina: what exactly do you hope to accomplish with the patronage of this girl? Surely you don't think you can thwart me that easily."

"Thwart you?" Regina echoes with a bark. "Contrary to your belief, not everything I do is about _you_."

In this particular match of cat and mouse, Gold is the first to pounce.

"Don't play games with me, dearie," he seethes, looming over her desk. "I want you to tell me everything you know. _Please_."

She remains unaffected, face passive until she raises a brow. "I know that Emma Blanchard is Snow White and Prince Charming's daughter. I know that she hasn't fallen far from the tree. I know that she, her mother, and Pinocchio, managed to live outside of Storybrooke for the past sixteen years. And I'm still trying to discover how that was possible." She pauses, a smile ghosting over her lips. "You don't want her here, do you, Gold? Why is that?"

Seeing that he's revealed too much to a woman obviously ignorant of his plans, he settles back into his chair, eyebrows folding downward in thought. "Oh, I want her here," he muses, softly, "but not just yet."

"I don't follow."

"Good," Gold says, rising, "I don't want you to."

Regina rolls her eyes and quips, "She must be of considerable value to have you worried." Which, of course, makes her even more of an asset to Regina. That goes without saying.

Funny. This is the first time Regina has ever received a visit from Gold that actually made her day _better_.

He walks stiffly to the door, turning back to deliver a final word. "All the more reason for you to stay out of my way."

"Is that a threat?" she probes, bemusedly.

"I don't care what you call it, Regina, so long as you abide by it."

But he knows, even as he's going through the door, that she's never been one to take orders.

* * *

No one shops like Ruby Lucas. That's essentially the only thing Emma's tired brain can remember from the three hour escapade to which her newfound companion subjected her.

By the time they make it back to the mansion Emma's not entirely sure she can feel her feet, but Ruby's chattering away with as much energy as an uncorked bottle of champagne. Night has set in and Ruby jokes that she gets really hyper after dark, that she suffers from mild insomnia she's never cared enough to medicate, but that after a while Emma will get used to it just like all Ruby's other friends have. Emma smiles and nods but she's not entirely sure she will- not like she has a choice, though, since Ruby is pretty much her only friend here in town. Sigh.

"Spend tomorrow working on memorizing that menu," Ruby grins, stopping across from the blonde on the mayor's doorstep. "And stop by later, I want to see you working your new duds."

Emma's wan face manages a fatigued smile. After she sees the tall brunette off she grabs the key from her pocket and pushes into the foyer, flipping on the light switch before she stumbles into anything in her exhausted delirium. What she doesn't expect to see is Regina standing just a few feet from her, dressed in the top form she sported this morning.

"Okay, you've got to stop doing that," Emma gasps, heart going off like a firework. "It's creepy."

If Regina was less disciplined she might have rolled her eyes. "I see your trip was successful," she states matter-of-factly, gesturing at the heavy bags Emma struggles to keep aloft. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."

"Yeah," Emma yawns, eyes bleary. She blinks and shakes her head, nodding in the direction of the stairs. "I'm gunna hit the sack. I'll see you in the morning. Thanks again for… you know. The card, and money and stuff."

"What you're wearing now- is that new? I don't recall seeing it this afternoon."

It takes a minute for her to remember. "Oh. Yeah. Ruby said blue complimented my eyes, or whatever. But the jeans are still mine."

Regina nods in agreement. Then, "Goodnight, Miss Blanchard," she says dismissively, turning on her heel into the kitchen.

Emma only pauses for a moment before stumbling up the stairs, and when Regina hears her door shut she relaxes against the marble countertop with a sigh. She's determined to discover why this girl is of such vital interest to Gold, but, aside from being Snow and James's child, Regina can't think of anything that makes her particularly special. As far as she can tell Emma Blanchard is an average girl who grew up in below average circumstances, causing her to develop an above average temper that requires an average effort to quell. Essentially, Emma is no different than many other teenagers of her generation.

And yet.

And yet, there must be something about her that sets her apart.

Regina tucks her lower lip under her teeth in fierce concentration, ignoring the chill of the cold marble through her silk blouse. What about Emma does Gold want to collect? She, of all people, should know his agenda intimately, but she's missing a piece of the puzzle that she lacks the resources to find. Gold gravitates toward power and seeks to satisfy his insatiable appetite for control- he plans ahead, he plots, he is willing to wait eons to reach his intended ends, afforded the luxury of immortality. He said he wants Emma in Storybrooke, but "not yet," implying she's a focal point of one of his carefully architected plans. But something, at some point, went awry, and Emma has become a deviant variable.

Regina learned long ago that most of Gold's plans are often to her detriment, and she has no reason to believe this one won't be as well. She can only assume based on previous data that she has a right to end it, or at least stall it for a while until she learns its true nature. And to do that, she has to keep Emma under close watch and Gold even closer. Simple enough. She's already rendered Emma completely dependent on her charity and Gold, well, over the years she's learned to mind him in her own way.

The clock on the microwave shines an eerie green light across the room, declaring a time that makes Regina's muscles ache for her bed. She ambles out of the kitchen and stops to turn off the light in the foyer before making the trek upstairs, one that seems longer now that she is wearied by the mental exercise of unraveling Gold's riddles.

And by the time she reaches her bedroom, she has more questions than answers.

* * *

Answers. Emma needs answers.

Yeah, she promised she'd hang out with Ruby later, or at least stop by the diner to see her on her break, but Emma's on a more important mission now, one that requires her to bend those plans.

First, she had to buy cigarettes. It'd been too long since her last smoke and she was starting to get a little jittery. She insisted to Ruby that she isn't addicted (yet) but the stress of the past few days has been so overwhelming that she needed to relax, and smoking is one of the only ways she knows how.

After she left the gas station (and after she tricked the cashier with an award worthy performance of the "I'm really eighteen but left my I.D. at home, could you please let me buy them anyway" card) and shoved a pack of L&Ms into her pocket, Emma continues on her way to accomplishing the second part of her mission: to find Mr. Gold's pawnshop and take him up on his offer. She knows next to nothing about Storybrooke and he seems to think he's an "expert," so as far as Emma's concerned she has nothing to lose. She would have approached Regina with some of her questions but she's not entirely convinced Regina is all that approachable to begin with; and besides, she figures she'd better do some networking, find other sources. As disturbing as this Mr. Gold is, Emma gets the vibe that he may actually know what he claims to know.

She lights a cig and sticks it between her teeth, inhaling the sweet musky taste of nicotine with unparalleled eagerness. Already she feels the tight knot of stress between her shoulder blades unwinding, and she springs down the street with renewed vitality. She's looked up the directions to the pawnshop already and feels confident in her ability to follow directions- she's a good navigator, her not-mother always said, and she very rarely gets lost.

In about fifteen minutes Emma espies the shop, shady as she imagined. Even from the windows she can tell it's cluttered and musty, filled with a thousand knickknacks she doubts are worth much to anyone. After she's finished her second cigarette, Emma strolls up to the door and pushes it back, the bell attached to it serving as a tingling announcement of her arrival.

"Hello?" her voice a ray of light shining into the dark, dusty storefront, "Mr. Gold? It's Emma Blanchard. We met yesterday? Your sign says you're open."

She hears a rustle near the front counter and sees the man emerge from behind a makeshift cloth drape, masking what must be his inner office. When their eyes meet he smiles, just as unnervingly as he did the first time they met.

"Why, Miss Blanchard," he croons, limping toward her on his cane, "what can I do for you?"

Emma rolls forward on the balls of her feet, hands nestled in her pockets. She maintains her distance from him. "I have some questions about this place and you said you have answers."

"My, you're quick to accept my offer," he observes, flashing those yellow teeth. "I hadn't expected you for a few days, at least."

"Yeah, well, here I am," she quips, disinterestedly. "So, what do you know about Storybrooke? Why have I never heard of it before? Why is everyone so friendly here? What can you tell me about Mayor Mills?"

"So many questions," Gold clucks, and she can feel him wagging his fingers before she sees it. "Before I answer them, I'll need you to give me something in exchange."

Emma frowns. "Um, I'm not sure I have anything to offer." His behavior is increasingly disquieting to the girl but she ignores it and stands her ground. "Why do we have to make a deal?"

"Because all information comes with a price, dearie," he says flippantly, twirling his hand in the air for emphasis, "I'm merely charging you up front."

"Fine," Emma cedes, hesitantly, "what do you want?"

He takes a moment to cogitate over this, leaving Emma stewing impatiently and suddenly craving another cigarette.

"Let's just say you'll owe me a favor, someday," he finally decides, with an impish simper. "Do we have a deal?"

"Fair enough," she agrees, less-than-firmly shaking his proffered knobby hand. "So what kind of stuff do you know?"

There's a glint in his eye that bespeaks a certain deviance not quite unlike that which she sees in the mirror sometimes. To Emma that means he is either a kindred soul or a threat. She tenses slightly, teeth set on edge by the discovery and by the syrupy tone of his voice that could be merely self-indulgent or just condescending.

"Everything," he answers, merrily. "Ask away. But please: one question at a time."

Emma huffs out a sigh and presses her lips into a tight line of concentration. "I want to know everything you can tell me about Mayor Mills," she requests, steadily. The enigmatic figure who took her in and provided for her when she needed it most is someone Emma wants to trust wholesomely, but before she does she needs to know more about her. She's a mystery, both to Emma and most of the town itself, and Emma wants to start digging.

Gold seems exceptionally pleased with her question and leans forward, voice hushed as if it is to preface a great revelation. "As you wish."

* * *

"Thanks for stopping by yesterday, bum."

Somehow it's Emma's first day of work at a job she said she'd never take. Waitressing has never appealed to her, chiefly due to the fact that she loathes communicating with people unless she absolutely has to; matter of fact, her track record at juvie isn't so great in the people department, but she's desperate for work so she'll try her best to stay out of trouble. Because that's totally worked before, she reminds herself with an inward roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, sorry, I, uh, paid a visit to that Mr. Gold guy," Emma shrugs, grabbing a pen and notepad from behind the counter.

Ruby guffaws, grabbing Emma roughly by the shoulder and giving her a firm shake. "You _what_? What the hell, Emma? Do you know how dangerous he is?"

"He's the only one who's willing to give me any answers around here!" she counters, recovering from the light jostling. "And he seems to know a lot about the town, so I figured it couldn't do any harm. Chill out."

Ruby seems mildly put off and creases her lips pertly, lifting her brows with an air of indignation. "You could have asked me, you know. Gold is the kind of person you don't want to get in bed with, if you know what I mean."

"Gross, Ruby. And yeah, I could have asked you, but you don't know much about the mayor and that's what I was after. Sorry."

Momentarily swayed by Emma's confession, Ruby softens a fraction. "Well, did you find anything out?"

Mrs. Lucas swings out from behind the kitchen door and claps her hands. "Enough chit chat, get to work, girls! We have people waiting to be seated," she admonishes briskly, eyes shooting daggers at her granddaughter and new employee. "Better not disappoint me on your first day, Miss Blanchard."

Emma grimaces. "Yes, ma'am."

Ruby shoots her an apologetic glance and they both scuttle out from behind the counter; Ruby to the recently seated tables and Emma to those customers standing at the door waiting to be seated.

"Sorry for the wait," she mumbles, flipping through the seating chart she has yet to memorize. "Follow me."

She hasn't even made eye contact with whomever she's seating, eyes being fixed nervously to the floor as she walks to the nearest open booth. "Hope this is okay."

"It is; thank you, Miss Blanchard."

It's funny. She's only known the woman for a week but the sound of her voice will be forever fixed in her memory, she's sure of it. The muscles in her legs stiffen as she raises her eyes to the dark haired customer, a subtle lump oozing down her throat. She hadn't run into her this morning and part of her was glad for it. She's a little anxious about seeing her ever since her talk with Gold. And, of course, she would show up to support her on her first day of work. That was so _Regina_. Emma should have known.

"Oh- hey, Regina," she manages to say, forcing a smile. "What can I get for you to drink?"

"Black coffee," she says smoothly, not even glancing at the menu.

"Right, should have known," Emma jokes, recalling their first meeting here at Granny's when she was not at all surprised that Regina took her coffee black.

"I thought I'd aim to be one of your first customers," and her words are as glib as ever.

"Well, you did a good job since you're my first," the girl replies nervously, rearing to retreat to the safety of the counter. "I'll, um, go get your coffee." And she wheels off before Regina can say anything more.

She's shaking, even. _Shaking_. Emma's not afraid of Regina Mills, no, but it's not like Gold had anything nice to say about her and it is taking all of Emma's energy to keep herself quiet. She's not going to cause a scene on her first day. She's going to wait until she gets home before she assails her benefactress with all of her questions, she's- home. She's going to wait until she gets _home_. A spiral of cold guilt and discomfort pools in her belly and she shudders it off, attributing it to a mere subconscious slip.

But then again, Regina Mills's manor is the closest thing she's _got_ to home, isn't it?

She doesn't want to think about this.

"Have you decided what you'd like to eat?" After depositing the mayor's coffee, Emma flatly repeats the script she's heard a thousand times over at various restaurants. She won't look at her, she won't.

Yet being as perceptive as she is, Regina notices Emma's odd behavior. "Coffee is it for now, thank you." She pauses, tilts her head. "Is everything alright, Emma?"

"What? Yeah, just nervous and stuff," she's quick to lie, voice an octave or so higher as if the falsehood is squeezing her throat. "I'll be back to check on you later." And she zips off again, leaving Regina in a thick pother of curiosity.

"You're as pale as a ghost," Ruby notes when Emma flings herself into the sanctuary of the kitchen. "Did Granny say something to you again?"

Her heart's racing and it's out of her mouth before she can catch it. "Is it true that Regina has rigged elections and has been brought up on charges for murder and has been institutionalized for mental and emotional instability?"

"Woah," Ruby gapes, cherry mouth popping open. "Did Gold tell you all of that?"

"Yeah." She steadies herself. "I asked for evidence and he said if I came back tonight he'd have it."

"That's bullshit, Ems. This is a small town and we all know each other's business. Look, I'm not exactly her number one fan but I highly doubt Regina could have done all those things without any of us knowing. You're _not_ going back to see him tonight. Got it? Now come on, let's get back to work before Granny finds us. She's never been arrested for murder, but I'm pretty sure that's only because she's lucky," Ruby jibes playfully, but Emma doesn't respond, not even with a pity laugh, as she does with most of Ruby's jokes.

"Emma," Ruby levels, serious now. "If I thought you were living with a psychopath I would tell you. _Mr. Gold_ is the psychopath, not Mayor Mills. Stay away from him. I mean it."

But Ruby knows her new friend well enough to predict that she isn't the kind of girl to take orders.

* * *

She only just bought the pack yesterday but she's already on her last cig.

Fuck. So much for not getting addicted.

Emma kicks a stone onto the street as she balefully lights her last stick. She's going to have to come up with something creative tomorrow because the gas station guy will remember her and likely won't buy another sob story. Hmm. Ruby's eighteen. Maybe she can use her as a middleman for her unhealthy cravings. Maybe Ruby would help her get some cigs as a reward for not going to Gold tonight. Worth a shot, Emma thinks to herself, disappointed though she is at blowing off the chance to get concrete proof that Regina is all kinds of monstrous. But maybe she didn't want the proof anyway.

When she finishes her smoke she grinds the butt under her shoe and trudges into the manor, fully expecting now that Regina is perched like a hawk inside waiting for her return.

In a fucked up sort of way it was nice to come home to someone who wanted her there.

When she opens the door, though, Regina is nowhere in sight.

"Regina?" she calls, both surprised and mildly disappointed. This is the first time the mayor hasn't been creepily awaiting her in the foyer. And here, she was so looking forward to it.

Deciding the mayor must have went to bed early, Emma trucks upstairs to her room.

"Woah, what the hell- "

"I found these documents on the doorstep when I returned from work. Care to explain?"

Regina is sitting on Emma's bed with a manila folder clutched between her hands. Angry, but not furious. Voice controlled, but threatening. Emma confusedly drops her bag on the floor and advances, pulling the folder from Regina's grasp, momentarily ignoring the heart attack the mayor nearly caused her.

Inside the folder she finds the proof she was supposed to get from Gold tonight.

Well, the man _does_ keep his word.

"Um." It limps off Emma's tongue like a paralyzed apology, and she digs her teeth guiltily into her bottom lip. "I may have done a background check on you with Mr. Gold."

For once Regina is actually impressed. For once Emma Blanchard has set herself apart from the trends of her lineage.

"It's not like I don't trust you, I just…"

"Don't trust me," Regina supplies.

Emma's culpability spills out of her in a heavy sigh. "Look, I don't want to be disrespectful, but I don't know anything about you and you don't seem like the kind of person I could just ask. You're generous and all but I- "

"You're scared." Pause. Emma stews in silence because Regina's right and she knows it. "I understand. I'm sorry I haven't been more open with you."

Emma balks at her. "You're unbelievable! First you take me in, then you load me up with cash, then you get me a job, then I go snooping behind your back and _you_ apologize?"

Regina's shoulders ripple upward in a graceful shrug. "You were just protecting yourself."

Emma doesn't know what to say anymore. She shuffles over to the bed and plops down beside the mayor, handing her back the manila folder. "So how much of this is true?"

Regina is slow in her reply. She's calculating, trying to decide which of Gold's lies could service her best. It's not his best move, feeding Emma faked documents, but it came sooner than she'd anticipated. Luckily for her she's just as good at weaving lies as he is; in fact, it's a skill she learned from Gold himself. She can just as easily unravel his plans as he can spin them. Regina swallows; puts on her best act.

"When I was younger, I experienced some struggles not unlike your own," she begins, softly. "My mother and I never saw eye to eye. I sunk into a depression and she thought it best to have me treated medically for some time, until I recovered." Well. Not all of it was totally untruthful, she thought, satisfied with herself.

"So that's what you meant when you said you understood where I was coming from, that day in the diner," Emma says, putting the pieces together. "Did you ever recover? I mean, really?"

"Yes, eventually. I got worse for a while, but in time I regained control of my emotions. So this is document is true. As for the others… I don't know who Gold paid to forge those," she says with a sniff.

"Do you and Gold… not get along or something?"

"That's putting it lightly," Regina muses.

"Guess I should have done a background check on my background checker," Emma groans, falling back on the comforter to stare at the ceiling. "Sorry about your mom. We really do have that in common. Or, well. Did."

"How do you mean?" she asks, though she knows what's coming.

"That night I came back with my hands all fucked up," she begins, voice the color of muted disdain, "I didn't fall. I fought with a tree and the tree won." A sigh, as she battles the lump pooling in her throat. "Turns out I'm adopted. That woman isn't even my mother. All these years she's kept it from me, and I just…" but she trails off, tears reigning victorious as they slide sideways down her face and drip into the shell of her ear. "Kind of a shitty thing to do, you know?"

Regina's effortlessly maintaining an even pokerface as she leans back and presses her palm to Emma's shoulder. "That's terrible, Emma. I'm so sorry."

Emma wipes her face with the back of her hand and shimmies back up, away from Regina's touch. "Yeah, well, nothing I can do about it, so."

The two sit in a hush, the air static around them.

"I'm sorry I hired someone to dig for shit on you," Emma finally says.

Regina smiles. "I'm sorry your mother lied to you." Then, "_Hired_? Did you _pay_ him to do this?"

"No," she refutes, snapping out of her haze, "No, no, I wouldn't use your own money to do that. He said I just owed him a favor, that's all."

"Emma, Gold is not someone you want to be beholden to," Regina's voice is severe, this time genuine in its concern. "He is dangerous, and you need to stay away from him." With Regina's luck Gold would ask Emma to do him the _favor_ of leaving town, and while she's not certain Emma would agree to that demand she knows Gold has ways of making his requests happen.

"Okay, okay," Emma agrees, trying to pacify the mayor. "Consider him officially ignored. Sheesh."

"He makes a powerful enemy. Remember that."

Once she feels Emma is adequately put in check, Regina rises from the bed and makes for the door. "You should sleep. You've had a full day today and will have another one tomorrow. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," Emma says, but before Regina is out the door she adds, "Hey, thanks for… you know, not getting mad about the documents. And telling me that stuff about you and your mom. Sorry you have a shitty one too."

Regina replies with a tender smile, "It's not very often I encounter anyone interested in me or my past. Opening up is something I have to get used to with you around, it seems."

"Where is she now? Your mother?"

"She died a long time ago." The smile doesn't fade.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Nice going, Emma.

"Don't be. Now get some rest."

After Regina shuts the door, Emma lies back down on the bed and wonders why she suddenly feels so warm. It's cold in the room, as the mayor likes it, and she's not wearing socks, but her whole body is radiating a pleasant, fuzzy heat.

And on the other side of the door, despite the deceit and the trickery and the endless mind games, Regina is wondering the same thing.


End file.
